


don’t leave me high

by sorrymum



Category: MOPI, My Own Private Idaho (1991)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, M/M, Minor Character Death, again briefly mentioned, and past mentions of sex but barely, basically my take on the ending, brief mentions of scott’s dad and bob, kind of?, no caps, the happy ending is kind of debatable, the only reason i put this as teen and up is because of language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 11:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19333393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrymum/pseuds/sorrymum
Summary: mike looks back on his relationship with scott as he walks home





	don’t leave me high

**Author's Note:**

> first fic :0  
> been sitting on this for a couple months. decided to just post it. there’s no content for these guys anyway.  
> completely unbeta-ed. sorry if there’s mistakes :(((

pallid blue washed over the desert road in waves of melancholy; reminded mike of the ocean frothing towards the craggy western shore. everything was cast in a light that somehow mimicked the tightening of his throat as the gravity of his life came crashing down on him like a tsunami, looming fear over him and leaving desolation in its wake. he pushed his shaky hand through his hair, raking through the grease that lent itself to the volume so often attributed to himself and grimaced, the dirty feeling pooled in his hand & shame in his gut, as he reviewed his situation once more

scott favor ~~is~~ was his best friend. he spent countless nights holding mike in his arms, protecting him against the dew and potential vomit he could choke on. no matter what, scott was there. all of his memories were with scott. when he laughed so hard his face ached, it was when he and scott were together til the late hours of the morning. and when he cried his eyes out, scott was there to ground him as he trembled. all the highs and lows and the boring middles were filled with his warm eyes, reminiscent of the hearth of a fire, deep and dark with veins of crackling gold, wise beyond their years and yet filled with his playful youth. his soft hair feathered around his head like a halo, a modern saint, somehow picturesque in a dirty leather jacket. his everpresent stubble prickling against the back of mikes neck as they simply laid pressed against one another, not speaking, only bathing in the moments that seemed to be just like the movies but far too much sadder. and scott’s soft lips, pretty pink but always drawn like he knew something you didn’t. something bad. mike wondered sometimes if scott was an angel, if that’s why he burnt so hot like the swords guarding eden or whatever it was that the bible he was once given had said. 

but scott wasn’t like mike, he had told him. he had said it so many times, mike ignored him. they both knew he was lying. he and scott would be squatting in some old building, laying in a dusty mattress, sweat at their temples and smoke heavy in the air, and scott would say, “i’m going to change.” and then he’d pass his cigarette to mike and they would giggle a bit but there was a damning feeling burning deep under both of their skin. mike thought that if he told him he loved him enough, if he held him tighter and kissed him softer, it might let scott know that he isn’t fucked up. _that they weren’t fucked up._

it didn’t.

scott went with him, traveled the country, flew to rome, took that girl and never looked mike in the eye again. couldn’t. the funeral came and passed, mike wanted to say sorry, but he was so fucked up and would rather have very happily dropped dead before facing scott at the epitome of the clash of their social classes. mike, dirty, high, pounding on the grave of a man he never really cared either way for, looking for some sort of satisfying outlet. and scott, clean shaven, hair slicked, eyes blacked out so that no gold ran through them, and staring down at the corpse of the man who’d left him a fortune. it was laughable, so mike laughed.

now he was back on the road, his road, wearing a jacket that wasn’t his own, having a panic attack. his breathing went shallow. it felt like every single one of his nerve endings were tingling with 10,000 volts of electricity, his head was drowning in a pool of anxiety and all he could pick out in his nauseating whirlpool of thought was scott. would he ever see him again? would he be able to melt his fingertips into scott’s bare back, kneading the freckled satin underneath him like he was the most precious substance on earth but still holding him like a child holds its favorite toy? all there was left to remind mike of scott was the grief that always seemed to follow their escapades, now swelling to its full, oppressive stature. his fear and desolation and hurt were surmounting in the forefront of his mind, and mike began to shut down on the yellow lines. he begged his legs to move, staggered forward, blacked out, and fell to the ground. he was used to falling to his sleep, but he wasn’t when he realized that scott wasn’t there to catch him. 

mike didn’t really know if he dreamt, or if these were just memories or if they were the prayers of his subconscious for a past manifesting, but he was captured by the feelings of unsettlement and nostalgia nonetheless. they came in flashes, like a photo album being flipped through quickly, memories in bursts from each scene, like a match to a tank of gasoline. blue, green, magenta, idaho, yellow, mom, soft, red, car, funeral, black, pink, gun- then mike was being shaken. he was in a dingy seat, the material crusted and caked over time with foodstuffs and dirt. the window was splattered with bugs, the dashboard was dusty, with a little flower dancing to and fro in the middle, guarding an out of date radio whose static-y pickup of a sad country song reminded him of his own life. and then he looked at the owner of the hand shaking at his shoulder, preoccupied with the straight stretch perilously running beneath the vehicle. scott’s slightly shorter, but still feathered hair was fluttering with the fresh air rushing in from the window. his eyes were crackling, catching the clouds’ light with golden threads and glancing towards mike as he began to stir awake. scott was wearing a wrinkly button up beneath a particularly studded leather jacket, cracked with age and love. he looked older, but it hadn’t been more than a few months. mike realized that he wasn’t wearing the blue denim jacket embroidered with someone else’s name, now his person was dressed in a soft sweater and covered with an expensive looking suit jacket. 

“fuck” mike muttered, voice cracking from sleep and confusion and being utterly overwhelmed.

“fuck” scott repeated, smiling wide with bright white teeth and the same pink lips that seem so innocent but smirk like a fairy’s. 

“how did you find me?” he shivered, rubbed his arms up and down, and suddenly felt like he should cry

“how does anyone find anything? i simply drove and was taken there, to your side weeping on the open road. and i needn’t look at your unfamiliar clothes more than a second to know that you had been found and it was my heart’s desire to take you,” scott rambled, eyes glossed over from staring at the hypnotic asphalt beneath him for what seemed like days on end. mike missed seeing his friend wax poetic.

mike didn’t say anything, just leant over the middle seat and put his head in scott’s lap. he didn’t think he forgave him, but god did he fucking miss him. scott’s unforgiving denim juxtaposed with his soft thighs made for mixed feelings about his pillow, but everything with scott felt like that. mike just knew, in that moment, that he had scott. and scott, in that moment, put a hand in mike’s dirty hair and held him close, like the only thing he’d ever loved. and he was.

**Author's Note:**

> really love mike and scott’s relationship, this is just the ending i would have liked to see. might do something in scott’s POV in the future, we’ll see!


End file.
